


Romantic Twist

by jetblacklilac



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, im cry, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21746128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetblacklilac/pseuds/jetblacklilac
Summary: Sansa likes safe and predictable plans. In Valentines' Day, it is said that romance is unpredictable as it is sweet. Naturally, she hates the annual auction bid of her sorority.
Relationships: Jon Snow/ Sansa Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	Romantic Twist

**Author's Note:**

> its stupidly dumb

“You know, if you were giving me two thousand dollars in any other scenario it would be to use a sniper and take your shitty ex out.” Theon points out, loudly munching on his cereal in the odd time of two in the afternoon. He sits in the kitchen, feet dangling from the metallic stool, and completely apathetic to the small woman running around the kitchen, fussing and muttering under her breath. “When I say Sansa ignores her best friend say nothing because she really does.”

Sansa, for once since he stepped foot in the kitchen, froze in her frantic pace and narrowed her eyes with her mouth in a pinched frown. “I’m in the middle of planning a fundraising event, Greyjoy. Being a president of my sorority is _not_ a walk in the park. And just do as I’ve instructed.” She snapped, her hands shuffling the documents she’s been holding for dear life. Most likely, they’re the menus, seating arrangements and plans and flows of the program.

He slides away from his seat, walks to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. He does this action akin to how a person would nearly close their hand if they want to keep the flighty bird in their grasp. “I get it, little terror. Be the highest bidder when you’re off being auctioned for your sorority.” He summarized her request; a much thought out and logical answer to her worries.

It’s understandable because Sansa is quite uneasy in spending a night alone with a wealthy guy who is or is _not_ an axe murderer or worse. She’s had sufficient experience on guys who are devil in disguise, cloaked in expensive clothes and gleaming Rolex. _Rich assholes._ Theon gladly accepted this because you know, he’s a good friend.

“When you’ll buy me for a night, we can binge watch those black and white cowboy movies you, for some unfathomable reason, are obsessed with.” Sansa grumbles, her eyebrows already scrunching in subtle irritation as she can picture themselves hours from now. They’re stretched out on his mocha sofa in his apartment, bowls of popcorn on their laps, and listen to her best friend ramble about the fun and _ancient_ facts of these old movies.

Theon grins and maybe he isn’t so selfless after all. “We’ll watch my top six films and maybe we can squeeze in a seventh or eighth.” He informs her with a smirk, the taunting smile widening when she huffed a little.

“I’ll be the last one to be sold off like a bloody mule. But be there earlier anyways because punctuality is important.” Sansa reminds him, offers a tired smile, and calls one of her house mates.

Just as Theon reclaims his seat, his silver spoon swirling in cold milk and devastatingly soggy cereal, Sansa emerged in the kitchen with an amused expression. “Retrieve the suit I’ve rented out for you. It’s on the living room couch, you can’t miss it!” She says and leaves the scene before he can reply with sarcasm.

“This is all because I went here to eat her cereal. Heaven is punishing me.” He mourns quite truthfully into his breakfast.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Valentines’ Day is inconsequential and humbly mundane to people that don’t have romantic attachments. An example comes in a form of Jon, seated comfortably on the sofa, one hand buried in chips and the other holds a remote as he lazily skims through the channels.

“Hey.” Gendry greets him as he exits from his room with a grimace.

Jon cranes his neck and arches a brow in inquiry. “What’s with the stick up your ass?” He asks then resumes in munching his unhealthy breakfast and stare at the boring golf competition.

His roommate runs his hand down his face. “I have to help Sansa and her sorority girls with their event tonight.” When no reply came, he fixes his face, so it won’t be obvious how an idea sparks in his head. Mostly because he’s tired of the puppy heart eyes, frustrating denial, and half-assed excuses to go to the library because the both know Sansa is always there.

“The girls will auction themselves for a fund raising. I’m obligated to help around because well, Arya is has a black belt in kicking my arse.” _Still_ no response merely a civil head nod. “Did you know Sansa’s the president? And she has to set a good example for her girls so she’ll be the last cherry to be plucked from the basket.”

It isn’t a miracle Jon’ neck wasn’t seriously damaged by how fast he faced him. If Gendry hasn’t been suffering for _years_ from Jon’s lovesick nonsense, he would’ve laughed at how alert and energized Jon is.

“You should come with me.” He baits on the already eager infatuated teenager. “But I do warn you, I’ve heard a few whispers that they have their sights on your girl.” He teases with a laugh.

Jon stood up, cradling the junk food and glowers at him. “The question isn’t if but what I’ll do _when_ I have her for a night.”

“I’m praying you do something romantic.”

He smirks. “I’m God now because I just answered your prayers, my

good man.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The dinner was quaint, the food delicious and the wine even better. But Jon is understandably jittery with his constant leg bouncing and his fingers bunching on his knee. It came to a point wherein Gendry subtly threatened to ram one of the fancy forks into his eye if he kept at it.

Finally, the most await event unfolded on stage. One by one, pretty girls were paraded on the platform. Their audience kept on repeating figures, monetary value that would generously help their cause. When the host slams his hammer down, declaring the highest bidder, the girl would approach to their winner and be led away from the scene.

“Sansa Stark.”

Jon didn’t jump off his seat and offer his entire budget for this little event. No, he’s quite confident and had deep pockets, letting the men squabble over her first. Being seated at the back of the room helped him in peacefully appreciating her outfit for tonight.

It was admirable how near impassive his long time crush is at hearing the people beneath her shout numbers, increasing in value, to spend a night with her.

And _damn_ was she a sight to start a war for.

Her fiery locks are set in waves, flowing down on both of her shoulders, against the currant red dress she wore. The dress was somewhat modest, knee length showcasing her lean calves and her feet adorned in suede dark heels a few inches in height. The sleeves of it rests on her upper arms, the dress hugs her curves appreciatively but doesn’t hint much on her litheness.

As the offers dwindle down, he sees Theon fix his paddle.

“Am I hearing twenty four hundred?”

The fool raises his paddle and looks relieved when no one else countered him. Even Sansa shared his reaction and perhaps it’s because they’re friends and nothing would happen.

It’s a good thing he is known to have flair of being dramatic.

“Four thousand.” Jon calls out, his nonchalant voice silences any other counter offers in the room. He flattens his hand down on his thigh as he sees Theon’s eyes are wide and stupefied at the twist in the night.

The host, stutters out the amount and glances at Sansa, motioning for her to go meet him halfway. “And it’s official, Sansa shall be with the gentleman at the back.”

It’s probably a biased thought to say that the room is dimmer as Sansa walks towards him. As though her red dress creates an impression of a brighter flame and he has no choice but to focus on her and only her. She stands in front of him now, head tilted up. Confusion is so clear in her eyes even though her face is vacant but somehow civil.

“Thank you for donating to our cause, Jon Snow.” She says, low but its loud in his ears, like his pounding heart.

“Happy Valentines’ to you too, Sans.” Jon says and bends his elbow, thanking the Heavens she curls her small hand there. “The night has _just_ begun.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

What Sansa hated the most other than smokers is a plan veering in the unexpected route. Unpredictability is a horrid thing to a creature of habit, to someone who has a list for their checklist. Spending Valentines’ Day with a guy who isn’t Theon; the targeted companion she has _planned_ to spend time is dumbfounded her even now as they drive to an unknown location.

But she’s not complaining either, it’s all just a surprise for her. Because Jon has her for a night, the guy she thinks she adores but also loathes him in the same breath. His taunts and smirks boiled her blood to a degree she didn’t know existed. In the other side of the coin, his smile, those kind and perpetual glittering sky orbs endlessly fascinate her.

“I’m getting concerned, Jon, I think you’re lost.” She chirps, the first time she talks since it dawned upon her that he bet on her. Not bothering to glance at him, she gazes at the fast paced scenario out the window. It was hardly evening, only beginning to be so with how enthralling the sky is; various shades of orange blending harmoniously with pearl white clouds placidly rolling around. She could see the sun even at its distance, descending on its fiery throne to disappear beyond the horizon.

“Your words hurt my aching heart that you don’t trust me.” Jon responded, keeping his eyes on the empty and stretching road before them.

It’s been nearly two hours since they left campus and Sansa isn’t the type of person to remain in the dark for long. “I don’t like surprises, especially ones that completely derail me from a plan.” She complains.

If there is a God above, they would’ve pitied her and allow Theon to bring her to his apartment for the night. She now knows she took Theon’s boring plan for granted.

“I’ll turn your world upside down with my surprise. I mean, I hope so.” Jon let out a nervous titter that garnered her attention.

_Is he as nervous as I am?_ She wonders, now taking note of the constant drum of his fingers, the minimal tilt of his lips, and how they _both_ haven’t glanced at each other in the entirety of the trip. She feels comforted by this intuition, that she’s not the only one over analysing the situation. A predicament he himself catalysed. _Why_ _did you wait for me? I was the last one; there were other girls truly worth four_ _thousand dollars._ She wanted to ask him but pride and hesitation rooted it to the roof of her mouth.

Curse the lovesick fool who pioneered this holiday.

“We’re here.” Jon announces and he twists the car keys and the engine dies, the only other noise in their surrounding fades away. He got out of the car, rushing to her side and opening the car door. “Wait here.” He instructs and she does.

He returns to her with a large wicker basket and a wider and shakier (and _cuter_ ) smile. “Let’s go, princess.” He urges, opening his free hand to her. The sunset, slow to start, paints the side of his face in a calming aesthetic pastel shade that almost made his look soft, as though he is soft because of _her._

_I’d follow you to the edge of the cliff should you smile at me_ _like that._

There was a short trek before Jon decides they have arrived at their destination. It was a hidden sight, with a loose ring of trees obscuring the view from a person who isn’t that observant. Vines riddled with tiny white and red flowers hung around the large willow trees like innate decorations. As she found out, it has the most precise and perfect vantage point in overseeing the on-going sunset in the distance, the artistic blend of light and lighter orange dances on their skin, spilling themselves on the grass and trees.

Jon lowers the basket, retrieves thick blankets and spreads it out. When he sat down, he pats the space next to him.

“How did you find this place?” Sansa wonders, helping him in taking out the items in his woven basket. There was a container of fruits; chilled grapes, apple, orange, and pear slices. And there were two glasses and a bottle of wine; oddly enough from her favourite collection.

Jon poured for her, filling it halfway. “I got lost once, an impulse to explore the surroundings. And I found this place.” He explains. “To this manufactured holiday to sell lovey dovey crap.” He says for his toast.

“What a sentiment.” Sansa murmurs and their glasses clink. They both take sips from it and the flavour washes her taste buds in its unique flavour.

“So is that why you participated in the fund raiser? Only in the name of irony?” She tentatively wonders, infuriatingly uncertain of their situation. _Is this even a date? Do I want it_ _to be a date?_ “Would this be some anecdote you’d tell your buddies then?”

“Maybe because I like you so much; too much actually that I wore a suit for you.” He quietly answers, his eyes steady on her sequence of reactions. He didn’t even look like he was breathing because she hasn’t said a word.

Sansa blinks, reeling from the information, and she nearly drops her wine glass. Yet another surprise, _unexpected_ factor thrown in what is already a bizarre evening. Her mind is blank, thoughts escaping her in utter surprise of his confession.

“Okay it’s not a maybe that would imply I’m unsure of what I feel for you. It’s actually the only thing I’m so certain of right now. My feelings for you are the realest things for me.” There it was again, the proclamation is hushed as though only for her and _only_ her. “Please say something.”

Other than his affectionate addled words for her, the damning sunset helps him by making his face softer, more loving. His eyes are so mesmerizing she nearly forgot her own name and they’re much brighter now more than ever.

“I’m so sorry Jon but I-I don’t think I can.” Sansa mutters. She carefully removes the things that separate them and she scoots closer to him. It didn’t occur to her how her dress hikes up, a pool of red flowing from the top of her thighs, like silken lava. “But I can show you how I reciprocate.”

She breathes and before it even hit his lips, she shyly covers his mouth with hers.

The softness and slight chapped lips of his made Sansa close her eyes because this couldn’t be _real_ , the sensations are too _heavenly_ for any mortal to feel. Her mouth curves in delight as she feels his large hand cupping the nape of her neck. He pulls her closer, tilting her head to one side so their kisses, deep and slow measures of movement against each other, go deeper.

Her hands climb up the lapels of his suit and cling on the curls so temptingly luscious and her greedy fingers comb through them repeatedly, nails scraping against his scalp, and she drinks his moans and groans. Her preferred wine is a thing of the past now. What better thing to indulge in other than your lover’s pleasured sighs and moans?

She squeaks when Jon plops her on his lap but it quickly bleeds into a moan when his hands roam on her clothed skin and eventually he cups her backside. Though the evening breeze is cold, her blood is warmed with how fervent his touches are, how _loving_ and his actions are so close to worshiping and it makes her kiss him harder, harsher because how else can she say she might love him too?

They would need to breathe some time. So, Jon is the first person to break the kiss. He leans on one of his arms and smiles. It widens when Sansa chases his mouth the moment he detaches himself from her. His curls are messier now, splayed about his forehead. Mouth so red it matches her dress and its swollen and glistening in a level of temptation she hasn’t known before.

“Maybe Valentines’ is of importance.” He says and it sends shivers down her spine at how twisted in lust his voice is. He cups her cheek and she’s quick to lean on it, hair swaying in that action. “You’re the only reason why this blasted holiday holds any meaning.”

Sansa beams, delighted at his constant affectionate statements. “As you are too, my love.” She replies, as equally enamoured as he is. A rare thing to have the intense feeling returned as fervently as one feels.

With now knowing what had transpired, she would pick this a million times over than watching silly cowboy movies with Theon.

And Jon is right, she now loves surprises.


End file.
